The world crashed down on top of me, the weight of it all pressing me into the ground. It was over. After all my struggles, recent successes, triumphs, and close calls, it was over. I was being ejected for taking a risk—a stupid, unnecessary risk—for glory, for ego, for hubris.
My thoughts flitted chaotically. Gone. How would Lauren and Katya see me now? Lance, that bastard, was loving it. And Father, our trade empire already in tatters, needing to be rebuilt, I had been the one lifeline.
The color drained from my life. The world around me, the crowd, the banners, the sunlight… All of it turned to shades of gray. The surging swell of victory in my heart melted and dripped away. A coldness spread through my hands and stomach, sinking down to my feet. My triumph turned to ashes, my elation turned to sudden sobriety.
I thought of the others. I had begun to imagine Lauren seeing me more and more with those new eyes. The eyes of a woman seeing a man that could truly be admired. I had thought of Katya, the satisfaction she might derive from my win after helping me. Those would be dreams now if this shame was a reality.
And I thought of Lance, the smug grin, the gloating face. This would please him no end. That was almost worse than the loss of the attention of the other two.
Father. For all my awareness of what he was, of how he used me, I can’t pretend I hadn’t pictured his face as I rocketed to the finish. I wanted the praise. I wanted his pride. As pathetic as it was, I was trained to seek it out. And I had been anticipating it. But… no more.
All of it, the roaring crowd, the blaring trumpets, the raptured faces, it all faded to nothingness. The world almost seemed to cease to exist as the Bishop’s words echoed in my mind, “We have no choice but to eject you from the contest.”
The dream couldn’t be gone now… Not now… Not when I had just realized there was way to make that dream become a reality.
Then Baltizar was there, standing between me and the two clerics. His face was stern. That same impassive carved face, but with eyes that suddenly burned with hellfire.
He said, “Not so fast. He did no harm. He won, after all, and there was nothing in the rules that he violated.”
Mario dared not contradict the Lord Supreme, not in front of the crowd, not when he had his own master present to take on the titanic figure. The Bishop had no such compunctions. He said, “The boy is mad. If he had destroyed the Mystorium, there would be no Boston in a year. His actions were insanity and unnecessary. He did what he did for glory!”
Baltizar stepped up to the Bishop, talking firmly but trying not to let his voice carry to the crowd. That wasn’t true; he attempted to appear as though he didn’t want the crowd to see discord between priesthood and government, but he was playing to them. He could have made his voice lower; he wanted them to hear. He said, “Could it be that the rules never accounted for such a possibility because no one ever considered there could be such a talent that could unlock the Footfield just a few days into the contest? Could it be that while the Mystorium was needed to equip these contestants with suits, such a precious resource shouldn’t have been kept in such a vulnerable position for so long? Could it be”—and now he did raise his voice, letting the vast crowd of peasants hear him, not just the nearby nobles—“that you want to preserve the Sword, the Griidsuit, for one of the nobility, that you have a prejudice against this boy because he is common born?”
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The Bishop and Mario both cringed at each of his questions, their eyes shifting to the crowd. A murmur spread through the crowd, some nobles muttering inaudibly, and boos emerged. The priests and the Bishop shifted, fearful and uncomfortable. The Bishop said, “This should be discussed in the Tower. These matters are not for public discourse.”
Baltizar beamed, “That is very convenient. Young Tiberius here is to be my guest at dinner this evening anyway. You can join me, and we can settle the matter.”
The Bishop snorted, not hiding his derision, and turned away, organizing Mario and the other priests and servants to arrange the Mystorium and strip the suits from the other contestants who had finished their race and were milling about, trying to understand the nature of the dispute that I was the center of. It was only then I realized that while I had been concerned with winning first place for nothing more than pride and attention, there had been others behind me fighting for their chance to remain in the competition. What if Lauren or Katya had stumbled? It was perfectly conceivable, if not particularly probable, that one or both of them could have ended their time in the competition while these leaders of our city argued over my fate. I cast my eyes about.
Katya was staring with curiosity, her suit removed, and her face exposed to show her interest in the goings-on. Despite her interest and attention, it seemed more that she was amused by my plight than concerned by it. I saw Lauren, and even as I watched her, a priest dissolved her helm into particles, revealing her beautiful face. Did I see worry there? For all my sudden problems, my heart couldn’t be kept from skipping at the idea that she cared about what happened to my poor commoner ass. Gideon was storming around, kicking the ground, veins popping out on his considerably muscled frame, paying no attention to lords, priests, or me.
As I glanced around, I met eyes with Lance. He had stopped his practice, and a priest was approaching him now to remove his suit as well. His visor was still down, but I could see the smirk on his lips. I glared back, thinking, I could beat him. If only Baltizar could save me from my mistake, if I could stay in the fight, then I could take him.
As if to contradict me, Lance casually pointed his sword toward a broken barrel that lay near the town wall. Without taking his gaze from me, I saw his sword pulse. The explosion of energy that followed was monstrous, dwarfing the BEAM I had achieved in the past. The pulsing energy erupted and obliterated the barrels in a spectacular display of power.
My heart froze a little at the sight, both at the sheer power he displayed and the skill, the accuracy. Whatever I might achieve with my attributes, I could never be the natural athlete that Lance was. Our staring contest was interrupted as the priest reached Lance and started fiddling with his suit, beginning the process of removing it.
My thoughts swirled. Could Baltizar truly save me from this? I clenched my fists, feeling the cold sweat in my palms. I needed to stay in this competition. Lance might have the raw talent, but I had something he didn’t—the voice, my attributes, and a growing determination that felt like it could move mountains. I just needed another chance, one more opportunity to prove myself.
As I looked, I saw that Arthur and Emilia had been taken aside by Mario. It made sense; there was a clear divide in the class between those who actually had the potential to claim the Griid-Suit and those who were window dressing. It wasn't so long ago that I had belonged to the latter half, so hope sprang eternal for anyone, but it seemed that in my distraction, I had failed to see Arthur and Emilia taking up the rear. Mario had announced that the last two to finish would be ejected, and the faces of my two classmates wrote the story more clearly than I ever could have. Twelve had entered, and now six remained.
Or maybe it was five... my fate was suddenly far from certain.